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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22555117">Little Belle</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellynne/pseuds/Ellynne'>Ellynne</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Belle's Grandmother, Curupira [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Beastmaster, Once Upon a Time (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 10:00:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,523</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22555117</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellynne/pseuds/Ellynne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle has been born, but all is not as it should be.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Belle's Grandmother, Curupira [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1381189</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The last thing Colette remembered was pain, a great deal of it, though it was all gone now.  She must have fallen asleep, perhaps with some help from some potion of Agatha, the midwife.</p><p>But, that was all in the past.  Now, Colette was kneeling beside the small cradle at the foot of her bed, looking at her little daughter for the first time in the gray light of early dawn.  She was wrapped in silk linen, eyes closed in sleep.  No hair yet, but Colette found herself imagining her with red-brown curls, the same color Colette’s grandmother had had, if one old painting could be trusted.</p><p>She ran a finger, light as a moth’s wing, along Belle’s cheek, not wanting to wake her.  “Belle,” she whispered.  Colette and Maurice had discussed many names and, after nine months, were still undecided.  But, now, seeing her, Colette knew.  This was Belle, her little Beauty.  No other name would do.</p><p>That was when the door slammed open and Curupira, wild-eyed and pale, rushed in.  She came to a dead stop, terrified eyes growing even wider, fixed on Colette’s bed. </p><p>“No,” the demon whispered.  She made another sound, wordless, like a beast in pain.</p><p>Rumplestiltskin walked in quietly behind her.  It had been years since Colette had seen him, holding to his deal with Curupira the price she demanded.  He could not set foot in any place where Colette was without Curupira’s permission, not even if Colette herself called the old sorcerer. </p><p>She frowned slightly, trying to remember something.  But, it slipped away.  Well, she’d done enough screaming herself over these past . . . hours?  It felt like days.  Agatha had warned her the first time was often the longest.</p><p>But, it was over, now.  She only wished Maurice had been here, but the king had summoned him to court.  The border skirmish where Maurice had saved the king’s life and won his lands left him with other duties, and there should have still been plenty of time for him to return before the birth.  They hadn’t realized what an impatient little thing their daughter would be.   </p><p>And Curupira and the Dark One were here.  Not the ones most would want watching over a new life, but she was glad to see them, despite their strange distress.  Rumplestiltskin was almost as bad as Curupira. His silk shirt was in disarray and his scaled, leather jacket hung open and loose.  At least, he was calmer than Curupira.  He looked exhausted, even resigned, like a man who had fought a great battle and lost. </p><p>They both looked right past her, looking at Colette’s bed, not Colette or her newborn daughter.  Curupira looked like she might weep, something Colette hadn’t known she could do till now.  Rumplestiltskin only seemed resigned.  Whatever he was looking at, it was only what he expected.</p><p>Colette followed their gaze.  There was blood, of course, more than she’d expected, not that she’d ever done this before.  Everyone knew about the pain of childbirth, but she hadn’t understood until it happened to her.  It had hurt so much. . . .</p><p>Not that it mattered.  It was over now, and she had her beautiful, perfect daughter to show for it.</p><p>There was something else in the bed.  It was hard to make out in the dim light.  Had she pushed the bedding to the side when she got up to look at Belle?  But, no, it wasn’t blankets.  It was something else entirely.  That was when she knew what happened to her.</p><p>Stumbling towards the bed, Curupira began to weep.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Bargains</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Maurice was returning from the king’s court in Avonlea when the messenger reached him.  The man was riding as if the Dark One himself were after him. </p><p>Maurice recognized the rider, young Rupert de Giles.  A dozen thoughts went through Maurice’s mind.  Fire, plague, attack, betrayal.  But, the one that was uppermost in his mind, the one he thought of when he first saw the messenger on the horizon, was the one that tumbled out of the Rupert’s mouth as soon as he reached Maurice.</p><p>“My lord, your lady—Lady Colette—she is taken early with her pains.  The midwife—” The young man stopped, looking for a way to lighten what he was about to say and failing.  “The midwife says it goes ill. Very ill.”    </p><p>The Marchlands were a small but important holding, guarding the trade route along the river.  The king had given Maurice his lands and title after he’d proven himself here in a border skirmish five years ago.  It was important enough that the messenger stations were always well-maintained.  A rider, like Rupert, could change mounts as needed.  He would have come quickly.  Maurice, spurring his horse into a gallop, could do the same.  There was still a chance he could arrive in time.</p><p>He didn’t let himself think, <em>In time for what?</em>  He couldn’t let himself think what it would mean if he were too late and he didn’t ask what he could do that the midwife couldn’t.  Colette was a part of his life, as inseparable as his own arm. </p><p>Colette was the one who had truly saved the king, not him.  She had watched the birds flying over the battlefield and told Maurice where to ride to find him when the battle was in chaos.  When Maurice had come riding back with the wounded king, she had run to the king’s horse and, somehow, just from looking at it, had told the healers what had happened and what injuries the king must have taken.  She was the reason he had been given lands and title.</p><p>She had not been able to come with him to court this year, her pregnancy keeping her from traveling, but they had written letters every day, sending them by the messenger birds Colette had trained.  The messages were short, but he had been glad for even that much of her wit and clever humor.  If things were as bad as Rupert said. . . .  No, he wouldn’t let himself think about it.</p><p>But, if there hadn’t been stations to change horses on the way back, Maurice thought he would have ridden his beast to death and then run till his own heart burst to get to her in time.</p><p>As it was, he barely noticed in the darkening twilight as one of the castle stable boys took the reins from him, not pausing to give any orders for the poor beast’s care, though that was one of the things Colette liked about him, that he looked after those who depended on him, man or beast.  He thought it actually weighed more with her how he treated his beasts.  After all, as she said, men had tongues to tell you of their needs and to show their anger when being abused.  Beasts didn’t.</p><p>Colette. . . .</p><p>He ran to her rooms.  If he passed anyone on the way, if they tried to stop him or speak to him, he didn’t see, didn’t hear.  All that mattered was getting to Colette.</p><p>He burst into Colette’s sitting room and, for the first moment in what must have been hours (it felt like years) stopped and caught his breath.  There was a woman sitting in the rocking chair by the fire, a child in her arms. </p><p>Then, she looked up at him, her face caught between the red-orange flames and the graying light from the window, and he saw it wasn’t his wife—wasn’t a woman—wasn’t a human who looked back at him.</p><p>She was woman-like, a maiden barely out of childhood.  But, her skin was a mix of ivory and emerald.  Knobs of pale gold hair lined her brow like budding flowers and vines twisted along her deep green body.  Her feet, lightly pressed against the floor and stopping the chair in its gentle rocking, were backwards from a human foot.</p><p>He remembered a picture Colette had shown him in one of her books and the story she had told him that went with it: The Demon of the Forest, Curupira.</p><p>The demon, still holding the infant with one arm, waved a hand.  Oil lamps lit about the room, so he could make out the mild curiosity in her face.  Ice blue eyes searched his.  “Maurice,” the demon said. “You’re back.  I need to speak with you.”</p><p>“Colette,” Maurice said, unable to imagine what such a creature was doing here and calling him by name, found it wasn’t in him to care, not now.  “Where is she?  My wife.  I need to—”</p><p>The demon wrapped both arms around the child, pulling her close.  She nodded towards Colette’s bedchamber.  “Her body is in there,” she said.  She spoke softly, as if she were trying to be gentle but wasn’t quite sure how to do it.</p><p>“Her. . . .” The words sunk in slowly as he tried to repeat them and couldn’t.  “She’s dead?” She couldn’t be.  He knew women died in childbirth.  But, no matter what the midwife had said, Colette was young.  She was healthy.  She couldn’t—she wouldn’t—</p><p>“Ah,” said the demon. “Not exactly.”  Then, she smiled.  “You and I have a bargain to make.”</p>
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